


The Chain I Forged In Life

by Tress13, WardsAreFunctioning



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Christmas, F/M, First Day (Dragon Age), Inspired by A Christmas Carol, Post-Trespasser
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-20 03:02:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13137726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tress13/pseuds/Tress13, https://archiveofourown.org/users/WardsAreFunctioning/pseuds/WardsAreFunctioning
Summary: On First Day's Eve, eleven years after the events at the Exalted Council, Solas is visited by three spirits.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> "You are fettered," said Scrooge, trembling. "Tell me why?"
> 
> "I wear the chain I forged in life," replied the Ghost. "I made it link by link, and yard by yard; I girded it on of my own free will, and of my own free will I wore it."
> 
> \-- Charles Dickens, "A Christmas Carol"

Mythal was dead, to begin with. Her murder was the center of it all. A spark that had ignited a wave of flames among her peers - corruption, oppression, war.

Solas had once been so sure he could stop it, before it spread too far. Instead, it had grown into an inferno, one that he’d battled for a long time now. Millennia, at least. The exact number of years was difficult to judge. Tracking the passage of time in uthenera turned out to be an onerous task, especially if one had not planned ahead. He had tried his best, but his calculations were imprecise. Time meant less in the Fade. And once he’d woken, he could only rely on calendars created by beings who could barely live a full century themselves.

He wasn’t sure if it mattered, anymore.

The important thing was that Mythal was dead.

Well. Somewhat dead.

Common trade tongue had been created by quicklings, beings whose mortality necessitated a word like _‘dead’._ Death was as much a part of their lives as breathing. But for the Elvhen, it was different. If one wished to describe Mythal’s situation, a more proper translation would be ‘ _Mythal dinem’_ , with _din_ being an active verb, not an adjective. In the ancient times, death was not considered a permanent state as much as it was a… development. A change. And ‘ _din’_ could mean a great many things. A journey’s end, for example. A cycle’s completion. A fire dying, while the embers still remained.

In this case, the embers liked to remind Solas that they very much still remained.  

There were days when he could feel her stirring within him. The sensation of her magic would fill him, lingering like the scent of a match that had just been put out. It happened most often at his low points, when bitterness and doubt threatened to overtake him. It was as if she could sense his uncertainty. Whether she meant to strengthen his will or admonish him, he could not really say. He was not even sure that she had enough awareness to be acting on purpose. In any event, it was always a reminder of how far into this river of blood he’d waded.

Too far to turn back.

“Fen’Harel?”

Solas blinked at the blue flames in his fireplace, returning to the present. Mythal receded within him, like a wave returning to the sea. He looked over his shoulder. A messenger stood in the doorway to his office, hesitating. He was one of the new Dalish recruits, if Solas recalled correctly.

“Speak,” Solas said.

“Th-the others sent for you,” the man said nervously. “They’re waiting in the _Thenal’an_.”

“Of course,” Solas said. “Tell them I’ll be there momentarily.”

The man nodded once and left, clearly eager to be out of the Dread Wolf’s presence. Solas sighed. He went to his desk and picked up the shard on top of it. It hummed and sang with red lyrium energy - not the pure lyrium he recognized, and yet the most powerful of the shards he’d seen yet. He buried the uneasiness he felt at its scarlet glow. This was necessary. This shard was the key, the last artifact he and his associates needed. They would take it south. There, the remains of a titan’s heart that Mythal had once stolen were hidden, buried deep within an ancient temple. Using the heart’s power, Solas and Solas alone could take down the Veil in as soon as a week.

He turned the shard over in his hands. It was not large - the size of a dinner plate, perhaps.

Mythal roared in his chest.

He ignored her.

As he was collecting a few parchments for notes, the energy in the room shifted, a crackle of magic in the air. Solas stiffened. The change felt… familiar. It took him a moment to recognize why.

“Cole,” he said, half to himself.

“Hello,” was the response.

“I was not sure we’d speak again,” he admitted. “It has been some time.”

Floorboards creaked behind him. He could not help but remember a time when Cole made no noise at all, when he’d been as much a spirit as he was a boy. Much had changed since then. In fact, in his current form, Cole should not have been able to find him at all, let alone appear to him.

Cole read his thoughts, either through the old method or in Solas’s silence. “It’s not easy, doing this. I had to focus very hard.” He reached the desk. “But it was important.”

Solas did not turn. “You know.”

“Yes,” Cole said.

He hung his head. “I am sorry. If you have come to change my mind - ”

“No,” Cole said softly, interrupting. “I don’t think I could do that.”

Solas glanced up. The boy he had once known was grown. Changed. His jaw was more square, and his hair was cropped short. His pale skin had weathered the decade since they’d last seen each other well, still smooth with youth, but there were lines at the corner of his eyes now.

“Then why are you here?” Solas asked him.

Cole looked at the desk. He placed his knuckles on the wood. “Maryden. She’s not going to survive it.” It was not a question, so Solas did not answer. “We… have a child now. A boy. His name is Tim. He just turned six.” Cole glanced up, meeting Solas’s gaze. “But you knew that. You know a lot of things now. It’s hard to keep track.” He gave Solas a faint smile. “You should come meet him.”

“You know I cannot do that, Cole.”

He tilted his head. “You should. He’d like you, I think. Some people call him… strange. He’s done - odd things. Someone threw a sack of kittens into the river. He swam in and saved them. They’d sunk to the bottom, so they hadn’t even made a sound. People ask us, ‘ _how did he do it? How did he know?’_ I told them it was luck.” Cole's smile was almost wry. “Perhaps it was.” He paused, looking away. “He won’t survive either, will he?”

“That is less certain,” Solas said. “His situation is… unique.”

Cole’s mouth tightened.

“It was unwise, choosing this,” Solas told Cole as he receded toward the fireplace. “Choosing her. She cannot possibly understand what you and I do.”

“She understands the important things,” Cole said. “Life. Love. Laughter. Listening - ”

“Cole,” Solas said, stopping him. “I meant that she is not like us. She’s mortal. She is human.”

 _“I’m_ human,” Cole shot back.

Solas flinched. “I know. But once, you were more - ”

“No. Not more, not less. And it doesn’t matter. All I know is that I’m _me_.” He furrowed his brow. “When I became this, why didn’t I know about you? I should have been able to see it. I could see everything else, then. Why not that?”

Solas hesitated. “You did know,” he said finally.

Cole stared at him. Realization went flat over his face. “Oh,” he said. “You made me forget.”

Solas looked at the ground. “I am sorry, Cole.”

Cole was still lost in his own thoughts. “I must have thought she would stop you. I must have thought - ” His tone turned accusatory. “There was a time you thought that, too. Wasn’t there? That would be why I never told her. It was when you thought she was real. Beautiful. Unique. She still is. A rare and wondrous spirit - ”

“Enough,” Solas snapped. He balled his free hand into a fist. “You are fighting a useless battle. Nothing can change this, Cole.” He took a deep breath to steady himself before gathering the rest of his parchments. “Forgive me. I am needed elsewhere. Whatever it is you want, I cannot give you. I am sorry.”

He headed toward the door, Mythal tight in his chest.

“But you can,” Cole said. “I only came to say goodbye.”

Solas paused in the doorway. The words went through his body, chilling empty crevices like a winter wind. The parchments in his hands felt much too heavy.

This, he could do, he told himself, though his tongue felt thick in his mouth. He remembered a time that felt very distant, when he told Cole that spirits of compassion were rare, that the world could not afford to lose them.

 _“Dareth - ,”_ he began. He stopped himself. “That is - .” He shook his head, looking down. “Goodbye, Cole.”

He left without looking back.

 

…

 

The final meeting was relatively brief. Preparations spanning the last decade - what once would have been considered a rushed endeavor - had left little more than final details to discuss.

The small number of participants further ensured a quick conclusion to discussions. This was partially due to security reasons - the fewer who knew the details of his plans, the safer those plans remained. The Dread Wolf's agents may have been spread wide across Thedas, but even those closest to the heart of the effort only knew what they individually needed to know. There was not a soul left that the Dread Wolf could truly trust.

Trust - a perilous and tenuous thread at the best of times. Even before his initial revolt, it had been a rarity. The number he could afford to trust dwindled from the war.

Then the Veil.

Accidents in uthenera… 

Or more recently from misled convictions.

Mythal's death had been the first deep cut, and Wisdom the most recent taken from him. At one point he had been foolish enough to hope for that same closeness of spirit with Be-

Solas clasped his hands tightly behind his back, his knuckles white with how tightly they grasped. The physical sensation brought him sharply into this moment. Not letting ruminations on past mistakes swallow him.

His many, many past mistakes.

The _Thenal'an_ had cleared, the agents prompt in returning to final duties. Solas set to gathering up his own materials and papers, preparing to return to his chambers and then to complete his mission on the morrow. He would see his original failure of duty addressed and fixed.

As Solas exited the meeting space, he noticed that one agent remained; the Elvhen sentinel fell into pace besides Solas.  

"All is ready. Enasta's unit has completed their task and is now waiting final instructions. The northern units are in place." Abelas said, his face and tone perfectly balanced and professional.  Solas inclined his head in response; mentally reviewing all the pieces in play for tomorrow.   

Abelas’ pace slowed a fraction - an unusual occurrence in the well controlled warrior. His eyes darted across the corridor before seeking out Solas' profile. Even with his mind occupied reviewing his machinations, Solas registered the sentinel’s change in pace and demeanor. He had welcomed the sentinels into his ranks knowing they had been favored of Mythal - their long and dutiful service to her a sign of aptitude and dedication.

“You have a thought?” Solas matched pace with Abelas.

Abelas appeared to contemplate his next words heavily. “ I am… concerned about our Shemlen brothers-in-arms.”

“Concerned? Have you heard something? Has there been some further discontent? It matters little now with current pl-“

“No.” Abelas interrupted, “I have been surprised by their dedication and depth of feeling. They have fought alongside the sentinels with courage and great heart. I am worried for their fate after.”

Solas stopped abruptly turning to the sentinel with a hard stare. “That is a surprising sentiment from one who not so long ago saw little value in the- what was it? Shadows wearing vallaslin?” He let a breath out before continuing in a softer voice, “It is easy to be drawn in by the rare bright soul that exists in this current marred world.” He stopped to fully face Abelas. “ There will be unfortunate loses in the chaos of power and magic unleashed. Some blood will be lost to heal the whole, but this is the only way forward.”

Abelas maintained a blank face, also coming to a halt. The pair now stood in the corridor in front of the eluvian chamber. “A future emulating a past that was soaked with blood. A past they only know from romanticized legends.”

“A future that will be better than our past.” Solas's voice was sharper now. “You were a strong proponent for a return to the natural state of the world.”

Abelas was quiet for a time. “You are right.” Finally breaking his silence he continued, “You are right that at first I saw them as shadows. Now working and fighting alongside them, I regret those words. Their shorter years only force them to burn brighter in the time they have.” Abelas tensed before meeting Solas’ eyes directly, “This world’s current state may be unnatural to us but forcibly removing the agency of those who have survived this world will not correct it. They do not deserve the death and estrangement that will follow any survivors.”

Solas went dangerously still. “Divided loyalties at this point would be very unwi-“

Solas stopped talking abruptly. His eyes zeroed in on the eluvian behind Abelas.

This eluvian was vital to the final steps in their quest. The password was a heavily guarded secret and no one should have been using it. There was a slight glow - not the full light of usage just a gentle glimmer- and a familiar feminine figure outlined from within, headpiece and hair styled reminiscent to a dragon. The image lasted for but a second before it was gone. Solas shook his head slightly and blinked. The eluvian was silent and dark.

Obviously his stress and lack of sleep were playing tricks on his mind. He would need to actually rest before tomorrow. There could be no distractions when the Veil was brought down.

Solas focused back on Abelas, who had grown tense in the silence.

“You served Mythal faithfully for millennia. I expect equal dedication to the cause of restoring the world.” Solas said, his eyes flashing once in warning before turning sharply and quickly striding down the hall.

Abelas looked after the Dread Wolf, a frown maring his face, before reluctantly leaving to return to his own duties.

 

…

 

When Solas reached his chambers, a note was on his desk. He scanned his mind for any correspondence he should be expecting, but nothing came to mind. As he picked it up, his mouth went flat.

“Typical,” he muttered. Had the increasingly inappropriate nickname on the front not given the sender away, the looping, familiar handwriting would have.

So it was First Day again, and somehow, _somehow_ _,_ Varric Tethras _still_ had eyes and ears within the organization. It was impressive, really. Or it might have been, were it not for the fact that - unlike their other adversaries - Varric used his connections for one purpose, and one purpose only: to send Solas an invitation to his First Day party, every year. One harmless, annual task. Perhaps that was why his men were not uprooted as easily as the Inquisition agents. Or perhaps Solas was becoming naive in these final days. Either way, Solas knew full well he should burn the note without opening it.

He let out a frustrated sigh. Turning it over, he broke the Guild seal.

 

_Chuckles,_

_Happy First Day!_

_Maker, has it been a year already? It feels like just yesterday, I was sitting at this very desk, writing you this letter. I guess time flies when you’re counting down the days until your inevitable demise._

_I know, I know. You'd think I'd have given up by  now. But hey, I’m not going to hold it against you that you didn’t make the party. I have to assume it’s because you’re busy. Worlds to implode, people to kill. But what do I know? Maybe you ancient types just take a really long time to RSVP._

_Anyway, according to the kid, it sounds like you’re getting close. In the interest of consistency, I should mention that I still think your whole “Bringing Down The Veil” schtick is a really bad idea. Horrible. On an epic scale. Believe me, I’ve seen some smart people do some dumb shit. You’d pretty much top every last one of them in both brackets. I know I don’t have all the details, so you're sitting there thinking I don't know what I'm talking about, but from where I’m sitting, you’re two for two for terrible ideas. Forgive me if I don’t entirely trust that this whole shebang is going down the way you think it will._

_So instead of destroying the fabric of reality as we know it, why don’t you join me for a drink? I know you’ve turned me down… oh, eleven years running, but this is going to be one for the books. The whole gang’s coming to Kirkwall. Well, almost everyone. Thom can’t make it, and the kid’s celebrating with his family. (I mentioned in my last letter that the kid has a kid now, right? I’m happy for him, but it’s really messing with my nickname system). The rest of us will be here._

_Sparkler arrived a few weeks ago; he and the Seeker have been staying with me. Let me tell you,_ that’s _been an interesting experience. Sparkler has been talking a million miles a minute since he arrived. I’m pretty sure Cass wants to throw him out a window. Red and Ruffles are on their way from Val Royeaux. Curly, Tiny, and Buttercup are - get this - travelling_ together _from Ferelden. Boy, to be a fly on the wall of that boat. At least Dagna’s with them. Actually, I’m not sure if that’s a pro or a con. Five silvers say the ship ends up flying, or leaving a trail of Fade glitter, or some weird shit like that by the end of their journey._

_I’m sure they’d all be glad to see you._

_Well, okay. Maybe some a little more so than others._

_Come to think of it, if you_ do _decide to show up last minute, give me a little notice. I’m a lenient guy when it comes to guest lists, but I just had a vision of the Seeker’s reaction, and it wasn’t pretty. There’d be lots of yelling, that’s for sure. Red would have to intervene._ _Ha! Just like old times, right? Anyway, think it over._

_And yes, the Inquisitor will be there._

 

_Your friend and future statistic that will haunt you the rest of your days,_

_Varric Tethras_

 

Solas frowned at the letter for a long moment when he finished. He reread it once, his fingers clenching around the paper. He took in a breath, called to the Fade, and by the time he’d exhaled, the paper had caught. The words were disappearing into flame, into smoke, being carried back into the night. He grit his teeth and turned back to his desk, focusing on the task at hand.

He worked fervently on final details throughout the remainder of the evening. Or more accurately, he reviewed final details.

Magical calculations were double checked.

Correspondences were read for a third or fourth time; perused for any hint of problems.

Plans were run and re-run in his head till every possible response and outcome was accounted for.

There had been too many past mistakes and sudden surprises. Solas was determined that this time would be different.

He did not intend to drift off yet - there was too much at stake. While seated at his desk, he let himself close his eyes for but a moment as his mind continued to wander. Opening his eyes, he stared into the fire. It was a testament to how preoccupied and exhausted his mind was that he did not at first realize that he was in the Fade. Not until he noticed a familiar but unexpected presence behind him.

“You are presumptuous to assume that form in front of me.” Solas stood and turned around in one swift motion, his expression foreboding, prepared to banish the spirit who would dare-

It was in fact the figure of Mythal standing in the doorway, still maintaining the shape she had last appeared in: the form of Flemeth. The very instance he started pulling the material of the Fade to his will he felt a stirring from within. The embers of Mythal he possessed roared to life - a twin to the feeling earlier that day. The sudden sensation stayed his hand, the feeling more than the figure before him leaving him at a lose.

“This cannot be.” His brows furrowed even as his stance relaxed. There was still a measure of tension in the line of his shoulders, but it was no longer aggressive.

Mythal smiled slowly. The expression was not one of benevolence. “Can it not? Why do you, master of the Fade, doubt your senses here?”

“There is much that can affect the senses in the Fade, even for me. Stray thoughts. Unbridled emotions. Past memories and guilt.” Solas paced around to the other side of the desk while he kept steady eye contact with the figure of Mythal.

Mythal’s smile faded - her face now tired and worn. “Guilt? Yes. . . each of us twisting strings of fate. We have much to bear the guilt of.” Mythal looked away and down, before meeting Solas’ eyes once more her voice mockingly gentle. “Tell me, old wolf. Which weighs more on your conscience?  Your former mistakes and miscalculations - the inability to see all ends? Your failure to save everyone… or anyone? The belief that you could? Pride indeed.”  Her gold eyes flashed chillingly in the blue light of veilfire. “Or do you feel remorse for your recent actions? Continuously, knowingly, repeating the same sins. Playing with life, death, and the fabric of the world as if it were a toy. Do you believe yourself a god now, Fen’Harel?”  

Solas stopped his stride, his face blanched before his expression darkened and he snarled. “You dare-”

“Ah, but no… that was our sin, was it not? The leaders of the People. The People’s destroyers.” Mythal withdrew her gaze and shook her head slightly. Her focus traveled across the fireplace and his desk before settling on Solas once more. “Roamer of the Beyond, do you accept my presence or not?”

Solas was left reeling from the impossibility of her presence and her accusations. His emotions and thoughts, normally reigned in to focus on the task at hand, surfaced in unpredictable patterns. His jaw clenched and his mind frantically tried to decide on a course of action. “Even were you Mythal, why would you appear now?”  

Mythal’s cold smile returned. “I have business yet left unfinished.”

“I…” Solas was uncharacteristically speechless. He could still feel the thrumming of what was once Mythal - a constant pulse ever since this encounter began and a bit too coincidental. “I am sorry for that. You must know that my plans will see your murderers punished in full. Their crimes are not yet paid.”

Mythal laughed. “Even after all this time? No, I suppose not. Their crimes were many. My murder a drop of blood in the oceans they spilled… but that is not what I meant.” Mythal chuckled even as Solas narrowed his gaze in confusion. “Oh, I am still very much enraged by the lot, but my vengeance came to nothing as it was nothing. Nothing but a vanity no matter how great. They will hang themselves on the rope of their sins in the end. As I have already done. As you are currently doing.”

Solas paused while mulling over this speech. “Their crimes, against you and the People, are numerous beyond measure. Be it justice or vengeance, their sins have been weighed and will be punished. If that requires payment for my own sins then I will accept my fate. I deserve no better.” Solas looked down speaking to whatever remnant might still understand. “You did. You were the best of us and deserved better.”

“I? I made my bed to sleep in - then and now!” Mythal said, her voice sharp in self-recrimination. “Forcing the world to dance to my own tune with little regard for how the ripples would affect anyone besides myself.”

“You… Mythal did her best for the People-”

“The People? Which people? My kin I only tried to curb far too late? A handful of slaves who I so _graciously_ granted comfortable lives within their captivity? A few nobles I convinced to follow my example?” The specter scoffed. “No. The bare minimum for a paltry few. They were all my people. My kin. The nobles - honorable and wicked. The slaves in every household, temple, and camp. And not just them. Not just then. I took the mantle of goddess when it was convenient and then I awoke and ignored every plea. Generations of Tevinter slaves. Dalish clans unanswered endlessly. Alienages full of my people. My sentinels left to ages of a pointless duty. And not just elves. Humans. Dwarves. Qunari. Every mage trapped by the Circle or running ceaselessly. Every Chasind child who whispered of me in fear and wonder. My daughters. They were _all_ my people. I had a duty to them all and failed them all in my negligence. Do not fail them by hasty action.”

Solas frowned deeply. “That … that is irrelevant. There are no good choices left.”

Golden eyes bored into Solas before losing focus. “ _Min'nydha tan elgar garal_. They will visit one by one by one. _Dirthara-ma_.”

…

Solas awoke.  
  
The fire was still crackling and casting the room in blue light.  
  
The flames and his own breathing were the only sounds in his private chambers. The chilling glow from the red lyrium shard highlighted a blank journal on his desk that he did not remember leaving out. The book was well bound and completely blank other than a small note he knew was scribbled onto the last page. He could picture the jagged handwriting perfectly in his mind. Solas breathed heavily and stared at the empty pages. His hand came up and lingered for a moment before harshly shutting the book and shifting it below a pile of parchment.

Solas stood up stiffly and headed to bed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> Thenal'an - (roughly) situation room  
> Min'nydha tan elgar garal. - (roughly) Three spirits will be arriving.  
> Dirthara-ma - May you learn
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

 

Solas lay in silence, watching strips of moonlight grow on his walls. He knew he should return to sleep - that he would need the rest, come morning. But whenever he began to tip into that half-conscious state of dreaming, wakefulness tugged at him, pulling him back.

Frustration rose in his chest. When he shut his eyes, visions of the being that wore Mythal’s face lingered. Its words had unsettled him, at a time he could ill afford to be unsettled.

He shifted, considering what could have worn her likeness with such accuracy. Grief? Pride? Sorrow? Whatever it had been, its age was evident. Spirits did not catch him off guard often.

Then Solas remembered the leather journal he had found on his desk, on _this_ side of the Veil, and frowned. Well. Perhaps he was more distracted than he’d realized. He was sure to feel the full burden of his mistakes, in these final days. Varric was not wrong - the loss of so many lives would haunt him, afterward. It haunted him already. And his brief interactions with Cole and Abelas had left him troubled. With so many reminders of the consequences, it was possible that something in the Fade had found him… _vulnerable._

Or perhaps the presence had truly been Mythal herself. He did not like to think so, but it would not be the first time she’d survived against his expectations. And if time had taught him anything, it was that he had a talent for underestimating others.

Or perhaps….

His gaze slid to the red glowing object on his desk.

He had to accept that it could be an effect of the red lyrium. A thought that worried him even more than Mythal. He’d read reports of its victims - the singing they heard, the slow descent into insanity. He heard only a faint humming for now, but the shard’s constant presence made him uneasy. A shame it was so necessary to his plans.

Solas sighed. He let his mind drift from the mystery of the vision to the tasks he would need to accomplish in the coming days. Finally, he began to relax. Within minutes, he found the cracks between his thoughts and slipped into sleep.

The Fade’s reflection of his chamber had lost some clarity in his absence. When he returned, it surged around him. A spark of the spirit’s magic still hung where she had been; he reached out with his own to examine the energy, surprised by its strength. That the spirit could have been Mythal seemed more tangible here, in a the world was shaped to one’s will and not one's body. He had to admit that it had _felt_ like Mythal. And _she_ was surprisingly quiet inside him now - silent in a way she had not been since Solas had first found the shard.

If only he could see the spirit once more, he could be sure.

But it did not return. Time passed. The restlessness of his physical body bled through the Veil. As he paced in front of the fireplace, wisps rose from the ground without acknowledging him, and spots of light danced in the warmth of the Veilfire.

A brighter glimmer caught the corner of his eye. He turned to see a new spirit, translucent and small, lingering in the doorway. This one was not as old, nor as strong. Solas recognized its form - the faint shape of a person not fully drawn. The form of so many who’d been trapped after he’d risen the Veil.

What was it Mythal had told him? _Min'nydha tan elgar garal._

_Tonight, three spirits will arrive._

Solas felt a chill in his blood that he ignored. He bowed his head. He was a great many things, but he refused to be a poor host to a lost spirit. _“Andaran atish’an.”_

“Greetings,” it replied in Common.

Solas studied it. “You are the first spirit?” It didn't seem to understand, so he clarified. “You were sent to me.”

The spirit considered. “I was summoned,” it decided.

Solas raised his eyebrow at the phrasing. A point in Mythal’s favor, then. “I see.” He approached with careful steps. The floor was cold further from the hearth, biting at his bare feet. He was not sure if it was the effects of the fire dying or the influence of the spirit itself. “What should I call you?”

It had no face, no eyes, but it seemed to watch him as it answered.“I was Study. A Learning Thirst.”

Interesting. “Knowledge, then.”

“A form of it,” it replied. “Though Knowledge impacts that which it touches. Knowledge can grow and change. Knowledge trades that which it has for new words, new stories.”

Solas understood. “You are of the Vir’Dirthara.”

“I was, once. I changed.”

Solas tilted his head, studying it. It was unusual for a spirit of Knowledge’s purpose to change. Then again, it was unusual to find one of the Vir Dirthara so far from home. “And now you are...?”

The spirit bobbed in the air, as if buoyed by water. “I became the seed, the root of Knowledge, but I no longer bear fruit. The paths I travel now are not so abstract as the old ones. My rivers never change their course. My words cannot be unwritten.”

“Ah,” Solas said. He tried to keep the disappointment from his voice. “Past.”

“Correct.”

Solas rubbed a hand over his mouth, thinking. He was in no mood to review his past, the long list of mistakes and complications that made up his life. Nor did he need the help of a spirit to do so. The blood on his hands was half the reason he gripped to the present, to the _future,_ so tightly.  Every time he closed his eyes, he saw them - a graveyard piled miles high; a forest reduced to smoke and ashes.

His bitter legacy.

But when he summoned his power to banish the spirit, Mythal woke again, her objection strong enough to make him gasp.

Well. She at least had some involvement in this game. He touched the spot between his eyes, unsure of whether that was a relief or terrifying. Regardless, he could not refuse her.

“My past,” he said tiredly. “I suppose you will begin with the war?”

Past did not reply. It held out a shimmering hand, the fingers long and thin. Solas stepped forward and grasped it.

 

...

 

Instantly, they stood in a field at night. The moon was shrouded behind a thin mist of clouds. To Solas’s surprise, he could feel the effects of the Veil, the press of magic beyond a barrier.

Not Elvhenan, then.

He dropped Past’s hand, and saw a meditating figure on the ground, cross-legged in front of a fire. Smoke curled through the air, thick and fragrant with sweet herbs.

Familiar herbs.

Solas recognized the scent before he recognized the figure. “Felassan,” he realized out loud. He looked around, taking in the trees, the sky. “This… this is Orlais. We are in the Fade.” He turned to Past, his brow lowering. “You called yourself Past. This is not so long ago.”

Past seemed to shrug. “It happened. It is a memory now. That is enough.”

Solas shook his head, confused. “But what is the point?”

“To remind you of what has been lost. I am the purveyor of all which cannot be undone.”

“What has been lost?” he asked. He turned away. “In that case, surely there are more effective memories for us to visit. Mythal’s death, for example. Or the creation of the Veil, the collapse of Arlathan. Entering uthenera when I did - ”

Past cut him off. “This is not about _them,_ Fen’Harel. This about you. _Your_ life.”

Solas’s eyes flicked back to Felassan. “My life did not begin here.”

“Nor has it ended.”

Solas began to argue that in some ways it had, when the Veil was made, but the whisper of a warm laugh and the buried memory a heated kiss in the Fade drowned the words on his tongue. Before he could recover, he heard a rustle of footsteps. He turned his head. A former version of himself approached, as he’d been in uthenera, his hands clasped behind his back.

“You have news?” former Solas asked.

The agent called Felassan paused before opening his eyes, looking up. A thin smile curled his lip. “Do I ever not?” He clucked his tongue. “Such interesting times, these quicklings live in. It’s as if the world is reborn every day. Why, the Empress’s cousin prepares for war, and the one they call Divine has demanded - ”

“Relevant news,” his former self said in a dry tone.

Felassan laughed. He stood, brushing his legs to dispel dust. Solas noticed his former self frown at the gesture. That moment and a dozen like it came back clearly. In the Fade, dust did not cling. But the longer Felassan lived in the new world, the more physical habits he came back with.

“Relevance is in the eye of the beholder, don’t you think?” Felassan asked merrily. He tugged at a blade of tall grass until it snapped. “You never know when one’s fortunes might change. How many eddies in the river of time have _we_ seen grow to sink the ships of gods and generals?” The former Solas radiated exasperation, but Felassan only twirled the blade between his fingers. “I think you’ll find one thing satisfactory. I’ve made a contact.”

“A contact,” former Solas repeated sharply. “You’ve found Elvhen? In the city?”

“No.”

A moment passed before he understood. His eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Ah. One of them.”

“Yes,” Felassan said, bouncing slightly on his heels. “She’s an elf in the employ of the empress of Orlais. I saved her life. She was impressed.” He gave a mock-humble grin. “ _I_ was impressive.”

“Your job does not include recruitment, Felassan,” the former Solas reminded him.

“And _she_ is not a recruit,” Felassan replied. “I did not speak of you, or tell her who I was. She assumed I was Dalish. I plan to let her keep her assumptions.” He spread his hands flat. “Come on. This could benefit us. Depending on how it goes, we would have someone with ties to those in power. She trusts me. And she is talented.” The former Solas did not look impressed. Felassan shrugged, adding, “If nothing comes of it - well, then the girl does what she can for her people, and we execute your plan for ours. We have nothing to lose.” Former Solas pursed his lips in thought. Felassan paced around the fire. “Though I admit to being a little lost on what _‘executing your plan’_ entails nowadays.”

“We find the orb.”

“Oh, yes, that part I’m quite clear on,” Felassan said. “I’m also familiar with the part where you use it to remove the Veil. But how exactly we are getting from step A to step B….” Felassan trailed off, making two of his fingers mimic legs that walked along an invisible path in the air. He stopped them abruptly and shrugged. “There, the details get hazy. We both know I cannot unlock it. And you have not yet woken. So unless your plan involves an elaborate game of catch - ”

“There are options,” the former Solas interrupted sternly. He paused before admitting, “Ones I cannot discuss with you just yet.”

“Doesn’t that sound ominous,” Felassan mused.

“Felassan,” his former self said, increasingly annoyed. “You are trying to change the subject.”

“From?”

“Your quickling contact. Are you sure this is wise?”

“No.”

“Then why bother?”

Felassan studied his blade of grass. His expression softened. “Some risks are worth taking.”

The former Solas considered that. He narrowed his eyes. “You are not lonely, are you?”

Felassan appeared insulted by the suggestion. “Me? Ridiculous.” He scoffed, his eyes flicking to Solas. “ _I_ am not the one who has spent the last few millenia asleep. Alone.” He shook his head, growing serious. “You have not yet seen this world. We have limited options in allies. I don’t see the harm in raising some support amongst the modern elves.”

“We will not need them.”

Solas could hear his former self's certainty, and a bitterness rose in him as he mentally counted the scores  of modern elves in his employ. The dozens who had already died in his service.

Past seemed to notice the change in him. “You have since changed your mind,” the spirit observed, breaking their silent observation.

Solas kept his expression neutral. More than his mind had changed.

Felassan continued, “Hm. Are you sure? We can upset the balance of power. It would make it easier to act. It always does. We would only need to persuade them to our cause.” He smiled thinly. “And you’re very good at that.”

There was a pause, and then a sigh. “Fine. Keep the contact.” The former Solas looked in the distance, the annoyance fading. When he looked back at Felassan, he even seemed a little amused. “I suppose this means you’ve learned nothing about the mining company.”

“No, unfortunately. Today was a waste. The offices were all closed for a holiday. First Day. It celebrates--”

“Yes,” former Solas cut him off. “I can surmise the purpose of a holiday called _First Day_.” Felassan gave him a curious glance, and former Solas chuckled. “Let me guess. There’s feasting and libations.” He drew closer to the fire. “And… you partook. What was it? Three glasses of wine? Four?”

Felassan blinked in surprise. “How could you possibly know?”

“Two reasons.” Solas watched as his former self began to relax, now that the talk of business was over. He’d always had a less formal relationship with Felassan, perhaps because of how long they’d known each other. He felt Felassan’s absence in a way he had not in a long time, seeing him pace in front of the fire. Solas’s former self continued, “One, you rarely forwent an excuse to celebrate in all the time I've known you, which I assume has not changed.”

Felassan tried his very best to look offended. “Oh, and suddenly _you’re_ all forbearance and restraint, are you? Tell me, how many temptations have you been forced to resist during your nap, _hahren?”_

Solas’s jaw tightened, but the former Solas ignored the remark, peering into the night. “And two, your surroundings are a little less clear than usual.”

“Are they?” Felassan said, looking around.

Former Solas inclined his head in the distance. “There. On the horizon. Do you see the blur?”

Solas himself realized he had not noticed it as Felassan stared past him. His frown deepened.

“Well, _yes,_ I had some mulled wine,” Felassan admitted when he turned back. “It was being offered at the inn that serves as my residence. Delicious stuff. But I assure you, I only accepted when it was clear I could not accomplish more. The quicklings shut down the whole city. Everyone celebrates. Even the alienage looked festive.” Felassan began to move again, pacing back to his original spot. “It makes sense, when you consider the lifespans. Each of them have, what? A half dozen decades. A little more, if they’re lucky. The celebration must fit into a single day. They do a very good job of it. Singing, dancing. Expressing admiration for their friends and family. Many of them exchange gifts.” He smiled. “There’s even a charming little tradition that if two people get trapped under embrium, they’re required to kiss.”

The former Solas raised an amused eyebrow. “You almost sound as if you’re fond of this holiday.”

“Not fond, exactly,” Felassan said. “I just wonder….” His trailed off.

“Go on.”

Felassan paused, looking at the fire. “I wonder if there isn’t some merit in being forced to face one’s mortality from the beginning. The knowledge that everything is temporary. That one day,” Felassan paused, snapping a finger, “poof! It will all be gone. Perhaps it makes it easier to… appreciate things. To reconcile what one is able to control with what one cannot. To know right from wrong.”

Former Solas grew serious. “I would think the temporary nature of it all would make it equally tempting to ignore right and wrong entirely. If death is inevitable, what reason does one have to consider the moral impact of one’s actions?”

Felassan’s eyes fell to the fire. “And what reason have we?”

“The fate of the world,” Solas answered easily.

Felassan stared at the fire for a moment longer, thinking. Then he met former Solas’s gaze. “Of course,” he agreed. “You are correct. Forgive me, I never was much of a philosopher. We should play to our strengths, don’t you think?” His grin widened. “Meaning, I promise that by our next discussion, I will have contacted the mining company.”

The two of them continued to discuss as Solas fell into thought. He looked to Past. “Even then, he was beginning to see them,” he observed. He shook his head. “I… wish I had noticed. Perhaps I could have done something. But I did not think it possible until….” He let out a breath. “I had not realized how easy it would be to stray from our course.”

“Did he stray?” the spirit asked.

Solas furrowed his brow. “Of course he did.”

The spirit gave a noncommittal head tilt and remained silent. The background conversation grew indistinct; the memory muted. The light that came from within the spirit seemed to shift in the surrounding smoke as the campfire went hazy. The spirit once again held up it’s hand; Solas found himself simultaneously more reluctant and more intrigued, but took the offered hand and stepped forward.

 

...

 

The smoke filled camp shimmered; the soft moonlight dimming and then brightening. A sudden gust of wind turned drifting ashes and embers into a swirl of snow. An icy scene of white-capped mountains unfolded from their position on a familiar balcony. Turning, Solas looked up at the large stone keep while averting his gaze from the door into the structure. For a brief moment Solas both hoped and dreaded the memory being a far older one, but no - the more recent additions to the keep gave away the memory being of the current age. The sounds from below of construction would suggest it was the first winter the Inquisition was at Skyhold.

Solas's face went perfectly blank even as his back tensed. "I still do not understand how this is relevant. There have been many significant moments in my past. This… this was not one of them."

"Significance is variable. It is a memory of the past. Your past. And it matters."

Solas breathed sharply through his nose in frustration, his expression tight, but before he could respond he heard muffled laughter through the door; a warm and welcoming laugh that he had never expected to hear again. His breath caught. He instantly moved towards the sound from inside as if summoned. As he entered the Inquisitor's chambers, he realized time was further along the first winter at Skyhold than he first thought, though not by much. The Inquisition was now prosperous enough that Ambassador Montilyet had set up First Day celebrations to welcome the New Year, even in the Inquisitor’s chambers. However, it was not the room or its decor that first grabbed his attention, but the figure leaning against the vanity.

The Inquisitor.

Solas paused. Even his heart seemed silent and still for a moment. He struggled to gain some sense of equilibrium. Then, without warning, the world seemed to speed up - changed on queue as it did to her smallest gestures.

Bellanaris Lavellan, or Belle to many of the inner circle, reigned in her laughter. The curve of her lips stretched the vallaslin that traced a pattern from mouth to cheeks to forehead, vivid against her brown skin. Her green eyes sparkled and danced with mirth. Solas could not look away. She was… beautiful. Lovely, so full of life and joy, full of the spark of knowing wisdom that lit every room she entered.

Even in memory, she was not a sight he had allowed himself in years. At one point, he’d visited her image in the Fade quite often, but had forced himself to stop dwelling on her memory as it became clear that he could not suffer any distractions from the task at hand. It had been years since he’d seen her smile.

His chest felt tight. He was not prepared.

He never was.

Solas twisted away, eyes darting across the room in search of anything else that could hold his attention. He found himself staring once again at an image of his past self. Slouched at the desk of the Inquisitor’s chamber, and far more relaxed than was ever wise in her presence. His former self was perusing research and formulating theories - or more accurately, had just been interrupted while doing so. Faded memories of this particular interlude stirred at the edges of his mind - where he’d tightly sealed all the little moments from his time with the Inquisition, the treasures that were too tempting for him to revisit.

_The noise of preparations for the night’s celebrations invaded the rotunda, and he had retreated to the inquisitor’s chambers in hopes of avoiding the extra foot traffic due to the holiday. Or at least, that was the excuse he gave himself when he acquiesced to her invitation. Their relationship was still relatively new - but Belle had been quite pleased to set him up in her small sitting area for the afternoon. It had been a comfortable situation. He had been quite at ease until he had moved his pen for more ink only to have the tool scrape harshly against the table. Belle, quick with her hands as always, had slipped in close without him noticing and taken the inkwell. Belle’s deep and warm laughter had been a result of the expression of surprise he wore. So at ease with her presence in his personal space he hadn’t taken notice till the surprise of the missing ink._

Solas let out a harsh breath. “Fool…”

“What was that?” the spirit’s inquiry came from behind his left shoulder, it’s glow just visible in Solas’ peripheral vision.

“Nothing. Mistakes of the past that are done and… nothing.” Solas said and kept his focus on the scene before him. The spirit made no further movement nor comment.

The former Solas had apparently gotten over his surprise and now cut a chastising look at the Inquisitor, but the quirk of his lips belied any true offense. “Vhenan, please.”

Solas felt himself tense hearing the endearment, his eyes flickering over to the one in question. Belle was grinning with her head cocked to one side. “Sudden impulse. I was worried you might get stuck hunched over the text, you’ve been at it so long now.” Belle said with a raised brow, “I wanted to know if you’d need any time to get ready for tonight?”

“Get ready?” the former Solas inquired; his expression had softened further into a small smile, a dim reflection of Belle’s radiant grin.

“Yes! You can’t have forgotten the festivities tonight? They’re the reason you fled the rotunda,” Belle said turning back towards the vanity. She had already changed into a bright tunic resplendent with embroidery in a style more reminiscent of Dalish design than Andrastian. Solas was not sure if it was from before her time with the Inquisition or a recent acquisition designed to help feel more at home; he had never asked.

“I did not realize that the Dalish celebrate First Day?” the former Solas tilted his head slightly and questioned.

“They don’t.” Belle’s eyes were on the mirror as she applied a thin layer of red stain to her lips. “Or - well, we do have rituals to mark the end of the year and birth of the new one, but they’re a bit different. Most of my clan’s holidays were about the gods.”

She was still smiling but a bit more guarded in expression. He had not always been kind about her culture. Her eyes flicked over the former Solas’ expression in the mirror. Seeing simple curiosity and no bitterness, she softened.

“We did have a spring festival, but that was focused on lovers,” she continued. “You know, gifts. Dancing. Braided flowers around one’s neck. Sneaking off into the covered areas to… _spend some time together.”_ Her smile turned saucy and she threw a glance over her shoulder. “Maybe you can come home with me next year.”

The past Solas’s hand stilled over his work. “Perhaps,” he said, carefully.

“Then her clan was still alive,” Solas observed sadly. Past nodded.

Before Solas could continue that train of thought, his former self picked his line of questioning back up. “ And now you join in the Andrastian celebrations?”

Belle gave a burst of laughter before giving Solas an impish look. “Is that a serious question?” she asked, deepening her voice in an obvious, if not particularly accurate, parody. The former Solas was surprised into giving a returning laugh.

“I had forgotten she used to do that. Little mimicries to make her companions laugh… always lighthearted then… ” Solas trailed off as he continued to watch Belle while she readied herself at the vanity. The memory of him was doing the same thing, his eyes locked on her movement. He had changed less than he thought in the past decade - or, as he often feared, perhaps it was her presence that tore into his shields.

Belle picked up the thread of the conversation with an easy smile, rubbing a bit of oil into her hair. “It’s not the Chantry parts of First Day that I’m interested in. Though I’m sure Mother Giselle will be holding services for the faithful at some point. It’s just….” Her voice trailed off and her gaze went distant. “After tonight, it will be 9:41 Dragon, by their calendar. This year will be over, and the next will begin.” Her smile turned wistful. “I like that. I’ve always liked beginnings. It’s a reminder that the world keeps on changing around us, you know. That we should be grateful for what we have. That _anything_ could happen in the future.” She looked down. Solas realized with a pang that she was focusing on her left hand, a fact he’d missed the first time around. “That it won’t always be like this,” she added softly.

Solas swallowed. He wondered what she’d expected to happen to her mark, before…. Well. Before it had almost killed her.

He turned to look at himself - at the younger man who he knew would feel even worse, hearing her words. It was no surprise to find that the former Solas had gone slightly pale, his face blank as he watched Belle’s back.

Belle glanced over her shoulder. She huffed a breath at his expression. “Oh, dear. I can guess where a pessimist like _you_ went with that.”

Former Solas blinked. He glanced down, a painful look flickering across his face. “What can I say? Life has taught me that the most practical course of action is to prepare for the worst. A lesson that has benefited your Inquisition greatly, I should remind you.” He looked at her and his expression softened. “But… you are correct. Anything could happen.” His eyes grew sad. “I fear I do not draw the same comfort from that sentiment as you do.”

Belle rose from the vanity. Former Solas could not see, but she’d picked up a package and now held it behind her back. The future Solas knew what it was. A thousand thoughts flew through his mind. He glanced at Past, hoping the spirit would stay silent.

Mercifully, the spirit kept its lack of eyes on the scene unfolding before them.

“So, what is it that bothers you about change?” Belle asked former Solas, her voice teasing. “What makes you dislike new beginnings so much? Is it that you grow nostalgic for the past?” She tilted her head, looking through her lashes. “Or… do you fear the future?”

Former Solas leaned back, looking suddenly interested. “Hm. Must it be one or the other?” He matched her light tone as he purposely dragged his gaze over her. “Could it not be that I find myself enjoying the present?”

Belle hopped up onto the desk, next to where he was seated, her package still concealed. “The present!” she exclaimed. “Ooh, good answer.”

“I am not blind, vhenan. It has long been obvious to me that flattery is the quickest way to your heart.”

She laughed. “Hm, yes. _Flattery._ And a pair of pretty eyes,” she told him. Former Solas flushed slightly, but she moved on. “No. _That_ was a good answer because it gives me the perfect opening.” Former Solas raised an eyebrow as Belle handed him the package she’d been hiding behind her back. “Here. Your _present.”_

Former Solas seemed surprised. He shot her a quick, exasperated glance at the pun, which made her chuckle again, then began unwrapping the bindings. Inside was a journal - leather and well-crafted, with a careful engraving of a snowflake on the cover. Solas took a deep breath as he watched his former self flip through the pages. His throat tightened when he saw himself find the inscription in the back.

“What’s this?” former Solas asked.

“I know you don’t like to talk about your past. I don’t know the details, but….” She hesitated, shrugging. “But I thought maybe we could make better memories together. That you needed something to look forward to.” She slipped off her perch, bowing closer to him to see the inscription. _“Ar lath ma,”_ she read out, proudly. _“Mah dhea’nann.”_

_To many future days._

Former Solas was shocked into silence. For his own part, despite his foreknowledge, Solas himself felt a deep ache in his chest. The room blurred and he became aware that Past was now watching him. He looked at the spirit. “It….” He broke off. He cleared his throat. “I never used it,” he decided on. “The journal, I mean. I kept it, but I was aware of what she’d expected to be written in those pages. And….” He shook his head, letting his mind clear. “It did not seem right. I could not do that to her.”

“It is not surprising that you avoid recording things in such a manner,” Past said evenly. “Were you someone who wished to examine his own past, _I_ would not be necessary.”

Solas would still argue that none of this was necessary - that none of this was relevant to whatever Mythal was trying to prove to him. Why drag up his dalliance with the Inquisitor? Why review the mistakes of a foolish man, days before he finally earned a chance to right at least some of his wrongs, at the cost of so much?

But he had no chance to respond. Already, Former Solas was recovering. He looked to Belle with an expression so open, Solas could not believe it was his own. “Thank you,” he said, honest and raw. Suddenly, Solas could remember the feelings that rushed through him. Could remember knowing that it had been a long time since such careful attention had been paid to him. And her observations - they’d not been based on the half-truths he’d told her. They had been real, based on something deeper. She had found something he wanted desperately, and tried to give it to him. She had seen him as he was.

He’d felt hope.

As he so often did with Belle.

 _Even years later,_ he reminded himself. The vision of her in his temple, crumbled on her knees, begging him to stay, rose to his head. Oh, he had been tempted. He squeezed his fists against the memory, focusing on the Belle before him. The walls he’d built up in the years since he’d seen her were beginning to crack.

“You’re very welcome,” Belle replied. She tilted her head shyly, an uncharacteristic look for her. “I know it’s just a book, but--” She broke off, biting her lip.

“It is much more than that,” former Solas agreed, knowing what she’d meant. “It is meant to represent….” He trailed off.

“A future,” she said with a smile.

“Indeed,” he said distantly. “A future.”

“Could… that be something you want?” she asked. "With me?" 

It took him a moment to answer. He touched the inscription with one finger. “It… could be,” he admitted quietly.

Future Solas shut his eyes. That had been a confession he’d regretted the moment he’d said it. A confession he still regretted, deeply. There was no future with Belle. There never had been. There never could be.

But once she’d kissed him in the Fade, there’d been no future without her, either. It was a tortured dance between bringing her too close, and never close enough. He craved the solace, the peace that he found in her presence. _A mistake,_ he reminded himself. After ten years without her, he’d hoped himself finally cured.

But he was not. His breath quickened as he watched her, her eyes brimming with a love for him that he did not deserve. That he had never deserved. That - in that long ago moment, seated at her desk - he’d _wanted_ to deserve, more than almost anything.

He no longer cared about Past’s judgements. He stepped closer, drinking in the sight of her expression. He was lost. Perhaps as lost as the Solas in this memory.

“I am so sorry, vhenan,” he whispered to her. Words she could not hear over the passage of time.

As he stared, she traced his former self’s chin with her fingers, misreading the worry in his eyes. “Maybe,” she asked hesitantly, _“this_ is a new beginning worth having?”

Former Solas had been staring at the journal. He looked up at her. “I did not get you anything,” he told her in lieu of an answer, his voice rough.

Belle pulled the journal from his hand and placed it on the desk behind her. She slid into Solas’s lap. “It’s alright, ma’vhenan,” she said softly, lovingly, and _oh,_ Solas’s own heart broke to hear the words from her lips again, after so long. She tilted his head up, her smile sweet and fond. “This year, I have everything I need.”

She kissed him, a tender hand cupping the back of his neck. Former Solas was less gentle when he responded a moment later, pulling her tight, crushing her against him. She responded with a pleased noise. Solas himself dragged in a deep breath as he glimpsed his own desperate expression, and turned away, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Please,” he begged the spirit, his own voice just above a broken whisper. He could still hear Belle's soft murmurs. “Surely this is unnecessary. I cannot - ”

Whether the spirit took pity on him, or whether their time had finished, Solas could not say. But before he could repeat himself, he felt his stomach flip, and he was tugged into wakefulness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas and happy holidays!


End file.
